


Carpark

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Carpark, F/M, Outdoor Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt 'Could I get a story where the reader is a waitress and Till is one of her customers? And somehow things end with smut?'Sure can!





	Carpark

“That’s Till Lindemann.”

You lean around the counter, and blink a few times as you see the guy sat on his own at the far end of the café. He’s big – that’s your first impression, almost cartoonishly, like Bluto from  _Popeye_  or something, and ruggedly handsome. Yum. You won’t mind waiting that table.

“He’s in a metal band, you know. Rammstein.”

“I’ve heard of them.” You look over at Rachel, your co-worker, and she shakes her head.

“Well, enjoy. He’s a good guy. Tips well. Comes in here… few times a month. He says he likes the coffee.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I gotta go pick up Marc, but Anna will be here to cover from five, honey.”

“ _Danke_.” You wipe down the side, and Rachel slides the paper over.

“Here’s his order.” She winks at you again, and you go to chase her out, swatting at her as if she’s a fly; she scatters, cackling, and you read it. Seems simple – clicking the coffee machine on, you hum under your breath. The place is silent, to be honest. You might not need Anna-

Once the coffee’s made, you carry it over to his table, and he looks up at you, an awkward smile on his mouth. He has fangs, you notice that, but then his eyes – oh lord. You look into them and, looking back, you can pinpoint the moment you drowned in this man. They’re the pale green of mossy pools, and they’re almost indescribably sad-

“<Thank you>,” he says, politely, and you place the cup down, cheeks flushed.

“<Excuse me. Can I… uh, will you have anything else?>”

“<No, that will be fine, thank you.>” He looks down, and you scuttle back behind the counter. You feel a little weak – clearly he doesn’t want to be bothered, but you can’t stop stealing little glances at him.

He stays the whole evening – at about half five, Anna rings you to apologise but she’s been caught up, and you shrug. The place is dead – someone came in to get a frapp to go, and that’s been it. As you’re cleaning up, you hear someone clear their throat, and turning around to be trapped in that laurel gaze stops you dead.

“What is your name?” Till asks, politely, and you swallow nervously. He speaks English – do you reply in English or… do you use your substandard German?

“(Y/N).”

“It seems like it is a quiet job, here,” he continues, and you nod, placing the cloth in your hands down delicately. “Is this what you plan to do forever?” His voice is a little teasing, and you shake your head. “So what is it you plan to do?”

“Uh…”

“Apologies. I have not given my name. I am Till Lindemann.” You nod. “Ah. A fan?”

“Uh… I’ve heard of you but… not really heard you.” You’re stammering. You have to locate the nearest cliff, immediately. Maybe shoving your head in the coffee machine – can you drown in coffee beans? “Uh… I’m a university student.”

“That’s interesting. I will not pry into subject, but I hope Berlin is treating you kindly.” Those eyes. They’re beyond hypnotic. “May I ask what time you close?”

“Uh, yeah. Seven, we stay open a little later for people working the late shift…”

“Do you mind if I stay and keep you company? It is only… halfway to seven now.” You nod, and then worry if you seem overeager, and the man smiles. “Thank you.”

* * *

“…and then I moved here.”

You lock the door, and Till beams at you. He’s walking you to your car, which is barely around the corner, tucked away in a little carpark, but you aren’t going to pass up the chance to talk to this man more. He’s so big and handsome and…

“So you are new? Maybe I will have to come and show you around Berlin. I… have lived here for some time,” he smiles, and your heart flutters a little. You feel… that smile, so awkward and yet so  _pleasant_ , makes you feel  _things_.

“I’d like that. Very much.” You stop beside your car, and look up at him. “Well, I’ll be driving from here… do you need a lift?”

“Not at all. My car is around the corner.” You smile, and there’s a moment – a weird one, where your stomach fizzes as he looks down at you, and there’s some kind of imperceptible  _connection_ -

Your lips meet, so gently, so tenderly, and your heart pounds in your chest – this is bizarre, you wouldn’t normally kiss someone without knowing them well, and the half-an-hour you and Till have spent connecting isn’t usually long enough, but as he leans forward, you lift your hands to his cheeks, cradling his head, and he sighs a little into the kiss.

“Till,” you murmur, and he kisses you again, hungrily, as if he’s been waiting for you. This should feel wrong – this should feel scary and rushed, but it doesn’t. It feels good, like someone you know, and you wrap yourself around him, allowing him to back you up against the car. Your fingers splay out on his chest, and his arm around your waist holds you to him as he kisses you urgently, pushing his knee between your thighs.

Fire ignites in your core – you can smell nothing but his aftershave, his coffee,  _him_ , and you dig your nails in a little. If you’re going to get carried away by this  _man_ , this strange man who has walked into your coffee shop, you might as well get carried far away, and he grips your hip, thumb straying dangerously close.

“(Y/N),” he says, after a moment, pulling back, and you realise he’s panting. Your stomach clenches – the only thing that feels wrong is the fact that this doesn’t feel wrong at all – and then when he kisses you next time it’s – a  _good_  word would be  _predatory_ , but a better word would be  _dominating_. It has none of that cruelty ‘predatory’ suggest, none of the unwillingness.  _Dominating_  suggests a submission, and as his fingers slide up your skirt, you are happy to submit to whatever this is.

“Till, please,” you whisper, and he slides his fingers into your panties. You should be stopping him, but you don’t want to – and why shouldn’t you have what you want? And right now, you want to follow him wherever he is going – he begins to rub you with rough fingers, and you lean back. Anyone could walk in – there could be cameras. You don’t care. Let whoever’s watching watch. He curls his fingers inside of you, rubbing you with his thumb, and you moan, cupping his crotch with your hand. He’s getting hard, and you rub him haphazardly through the material, moaning as he stretches you with his thick fingers; his other hand is now no longer supporting you but pushes under your shirt to pinch your nipple, making you gasp.

“ _Gott_ , (Y/N)…” He kisses you to muffle your moans, and you grind your hips down, trying to get that friction you need. You’re barely touching him, far too distracted by the way he’s touching you, and you feel your toes curl, moans escaping between your lips and his. You’re going to let this man you’ve never met make you come, back up against cold metal, where anybody could see you…?

As the tidal wave of heat crashes through your body and you collapse onto him, moaning, it turns out that yes. You’re perfectly okay with that, because something about Till means that the rules don’t apply, and he holds you, his chest heaving almost as much as yours.

After a moment, you push yourself up, and he kisses you, the picture of gentleness and reverence again.

“I… I don’t normally…” you say, awkwardly, and he nods, staring at you in wonder.

“Neither do I, if that is consolation. May I come home with you?”

It isn’t even a question, and you climb into the driver’s seat as he sits in the passenger seat like a trained bear. You feel… exhilarated, and you look at the man in your car with you. He’s still hard.

“Let’s see if we can make it back to my house,” you say, after a moment, and he smiles. “My colleague was right… you tip really well.”

 


End file.
